Reunion
by KathyCastle
Summary: COMPLETE. Chapter 1 continues the last scene of Series 1, Ep 5. The rest is more or less now. It's all utter fluff to avoid writing a very dull report. My first attempt at fiction in a looong time, so please go easy on me! All rights the BBC and thanks to Tony Grounds for developing two of the best characters on TV in ages and to Dylan Thomas for writing an awesome play!
1. Reunion

He had just popped back in from the garden when there was a knock at the door. At 3pm on a Tuesday he wasn't sure who it could be, probably someone looking for charity donations. Like usual. He thought about ignoring it but thought better of it. He opened the large, heavy front door and there she stood. Not a word for a month, yet there she was. Molly Dawes.

'Missed me?' she enquired, looking up at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

'Yes' didn't seem to cover it so he said nothing, instead ushering her in to the hall. She laughed and he smiled as he closed that big, old door. It had been difficult since Smurf died, he loved her but he knew she needed her own time and space to deal with everything in her own way. He'd written while she was away but he never quite knew what to say or where they stood. Every time he had written he had remembered the image of her in this hall and now she was here in person. He wanted to reach out but he still wasn't sure whether that was what she wanted.

'Well?' she asked.

'Dawes,' he started, 'Dawes..,' he shook his head slightly, his voice trailing off as he said her name.

'What's wrong?',

He struggled to organise his thoughts, meeting her gaze. 'Come and sit down'.

He led her into the front room and pointed towards one of the settees. As she sat down, he pulled off his gardening gloves, sitting down with his legs angled slightly towards hers. Her eyes seemed to be seeking something, her face full of questions, he thought she looked a little sad.

'Boss man? Shouldn't I have come?'.

He tentatively reached out for her hand and as he took it she smiled slightly, still looking unsure.

'Dawes,' he began again, 'Dawes, I am so glad you are here, you have no idea how glad, it's just that, well...'.

'What? Sir?'.

He squeezed her hand tighter and laughed, 'will you just call me Charles, for fuck sake!'.

She laughed and as she did his chest filled with warmth. He loved her so much.

'What is it, _Charles_?'_. _

'Dawes..,'

'Molly!'

They both laughed and he took up her other hand and held them both tight.

'Molly..'

'Will you just spit it out, you massive cockwomble?!'

He was so happy, here she was again, back safe from Afghan, sitting next to him. She was all he wanted and all of a sudden, consumed by his emotions, silent tears began to fall.

She looked at him and her face fell. She looked away,

'I'm sorry Si...Charles, I shouldn't have come.'

She tried to get up but he tugged at her hands until she looked at him again. He smiled as the tears continued to fall. He loved her, he needed her to love him too.

'I don't want you to go anywhere Molly, I meant it when I said I loved you, but with everything with Smurf and you being away, I just thought... anyway, I love you, whatever else, I love you'.

She smiled, a huge warm smile and reached up to wipe a tear from his face, 'I love you too Sir, I'm so sad about Smurf but that doesn't change my feelings for you. I thought you might not want me any more, not now you're better and that'.

He felt like he was just brimming with emotion, laughing and crying all at once.

'Dawes, I have not thought of anything but you since the moment I last saw you. It's the thought of you that got me through rehab. All I want is to build a life with you, but I was afraid that you might have moved on from me... and my limp.'

'You're such a massive pranet, Sir. All I want is to build a life with _you, _so I'm not about to fuck off anywhere just yet, limp or no limp.'

He wiped his eyes as they both giggled nervously.

'You didn't answer my first question'

'No?'

'Missed me?'

This time he had no hesitation, he took her face in his hands and looked straight into her eyes,

'Dawes, I have missed you more than words can say, I need you to know that you'll always be the last thing I want to see'.

As their lips finally met, he heard her whisper 'Ditto' in response.


	2. Uncertain future

**This is a bit short but I am unbelievably busy at the moment and this is a natural place to pause...**

Sunday 26th October 2014

He slowly sipped his coffee as he watched the flags being lowered over Camp Bastion. The war, for Britain at least, was finally over. Bastion. Afghanistan. They were part of him. They had made him the solider and the man that he was. _Was_. For almost a decade he had never questioned the bigger picture, the orders from above, but now he felt bitter about the young lives lost, the catastrophic injuries sustained. At night, when the pain in his leg made him restless, the guilt took hold.

'They gave me back a flag'.

He reflected on the preceding year. He remembered feeling so alive, so much thirst and anticipation for that fourth tour. For theatre. His men were ready, the sections well drilled, coherent units. They would have a good tour. They would make a difference.

His leg twinged, bringing him back into the present, his cold gaze falling on to the MTP clad figures moving across the screen. Easing himself off the stool, he walked over to the coffee machine. He studied the replacement pod for a second, a thin smile passing his lips and a memory flickering in his eyes. He placed it into the machine and pressed the button.. He wasn't a fully functioning soldier without his first shot of coffee in the morning. He wasn't a fully functioning human being. Turning, the stiffness of his leg easing with movement, he walked over to the window.

The reds and golds of the trees pleased him, the life of the garden was so different from the barren landscapes of Afghanistan. He spent a lot of time out there, digging, trimming, planting, mowing. He liked the tangible efforts, he enjoyed the physicality. But although rehabilitating, that acre of escapism would soon need to be replaced by a more certain future. He frowned.

Beep beep.

He picked up the coffee, drinking in the aroma.

It was hot and it was dusty. 2 section were playing football, Dangleberries and Baz Vegas arguing about whether the ball would have hit the post, had there actually been any posts, not just a couple of bergens.

'Come on you pair of fuckmuppets! I ain't got all day!'

Sitting unseen on the steps of his cabin, he sipped his treasured coffee, smiling with her as she threw her head back in laughter.

He waited an age for the laptop to start, fidgeting impatiently. He cupped his coffee in both hands and paced the kitchen, pausing occasionally to glance out the window.

'Bloody bullfinches.'

The light from the laptop screen illuminated his features as he scanned the display, his stern expression offset by his keen eyes. After a few moments, he had the information he required and his strong, tanned hand closed the laptop lid with a satisfying click. In the corner of the kitchen, images of Bastion still flickered across the television and he paused briefly, looking again at the parade ground where he once stood, before grasping the remote and switching it off.

Picking up his neatly packed overnight bag, he took one final look at his garden, reached for his coat and walked out of that big, old house.


	3. Cold coffee

**Sorry again that this is so short, time is rather pushed, what with the joys of PhDdom! Also, rest assured Molly will be making an appearance soon, but I am enjoying writing about Captain James!**

The tea room was busy when he entered, families enjoying a Sunday afternoon outing, children, about the same age as Sam, delighted by cakes and milkshakes. He placed his order at the counter and stepped outside, the giggles of the waitresses fading as the door closed behind him. The terrace was empty apart from a young couple sitting in the far corner, too lost in their own world to pay him, or indeed the weather, much attention. He was glad to be enveloped by the fresh, cool air; the journey had been a little gruelling, stuffy and oppressive. The sound of the door opening stirred him from his thoughts and he smiled as a teenage girl placed a tray in front of him.

'Thank you'

She muttered an inaudible response, blushed and skipped back towards the cacophony inside.

The large mug warmed his hands as he stared out over the estuary. Gulls cried angrily as they swooped up and down on the sea breeze, occasionally holding themselves stationary on a favourable thermal, before darting downwards at a frightening speed. There was a desolate beauty to this place at this time of year, the lush greenery of summer gradually being replaced by the muted browns of winter. He picked up a piece of cake with his fork.

'A fork, a bleeding fork? Who eats cake with a bleeding fork?!'

He placed the fork carefully back on the tray and broke off another piece of cake with his fingers, washing it down with a swig of coffee. Almost on autopilot, he carried on eating and drinking, surprised to suddenly find both his plate and his mug to be empty. He licked some butter cream from his thumb, still transfixed by the gulls.

'O please to keep Thy lovely eye  
>On all poor creatures born to die'<p>

A gust of wind rushed across the terrace, rustling the the surrounding trees and snatching a handful of leaves from their branches. He watched as they turned and twisted, carried out of his view. He pictured a small group standing below, he in his neatly pressed dress uniform, the woman near him being comforted by a young man, uncomfortable in an ill-fitting suit.

'And to the sun we all will bow  
>And say, good-bye-but just for now!'<p>

The young man, clutching a container, took a step forward before slowly pouring out the contents. A gust of wind rushed across the grass and they all watched as those contents turned and twisted, quickly carried away from view.

Hearing the scrape of a chair, the young couple paused momentarily as the man on the other side of the terrace stood up. The young woman noticed that he was tall, with a confident, commanding posture. He was dressed in beige hiking trousers and a stylish blue waterproof, a camo print rucksack by his chair. She watched him as he faced out to sea, paused and inexplicably saluted. As a tear appeared to roll down his cheek, in hushed tones, ebbing and flowing over the strengthening and weakening breeze, she thought she heard him say,

'Rest In Peace, Privates Smith'.

Distracted momentarily by her boyfriend, when she looked again, the tall man had gone.


	4. Blame

He had not noticed it getting dark as he busied himself around the grave. He had been shocked by what he found when he arrived, dead flowers in their faded plastic wrappers still strewn across the relaid turf. Satisfied with his efforts, he carefully placed a fresh bouquet beneath the simple wooden cross; it would be several months before the head stone could be erected. He stood up and bowed his head as he read the inscription on a small plaque.

Private Dylan Smith  
>'Smurf'<br>1992 – 2014

Deep down he had known how troubled Smurf was, but he had not acted, perhaps too wrapped up in his own emotions. In the end he had put his professionalism and the lives of his men, second to his selfish desires. He may not have killed Smurf with his own hands but he felt he had contributed to his death and instead of making Molly happy with his actions, he had been forced to watch helplessly as she mourned the loss of her best friend.

She remained momentarily expressionless when she answered the door. She had aged. Her eyes were red and swollen, smudged mascara underneath them. A little bit of liquid slopped over the side of the glass as she swayed on her feet and motioned him in. Her mouth formed a sneer as she raised the glass in his direction.

'The great Captain James. Captain James. The hero... My boys loved you..., you were supposed to bring them home!'

He did not know how to respond, the look in her eyes only serving to amplify his shame.

Her voice rose,

'I didn't want you to bring Geraint back in a box, I wanted him home alive. He was nineteen. Nineteen! You were supposed to look after him. And Smurf, Smurf! He thought you were a hero, he loved you like an uncle but you let him get shot, then you let him get hurt again. You didn't look after him, he should be here, hanging out with Molly, fixing cars in Merthyr, not cold in his grave aged twenty-two.'

He shuffled awkwardly, staring at the floor as she spat the words at him, unable to form any sort of reply. He looked up and saw real fire in her eyes.

'Why are you here, why are you here? You have taken my boys, is that not enough?'

Suddenly, with the glass still in her hand, she launched at him, hammering his chest with her fists, tears streaming down her helpless face.

'I hate you, I hate you, I hate you. You killed my boys'.

He took a firm hold of her elbows, silently resigning himself to the blows until the anger seemed to subside and her sobs became more audible. Finally her crushed, limp body fell against his torso and he held her awkwardly until she was still.

She seemed to physically deflate as he handed her a mug of thick instant coffee. Eventually she spoke,

'I'm sorry, I'd been drinking and... those boys were my world.'

'I know.'

'It's not your fault. All of you were doing your job. Dylan's haemorrhage could have happened at any time, even if he had stayed here with me...Who knows?'

He focused on the mug of coffee.

'You brought my Geraint home so we could scatter him at Laugharne. Dylan told me about what you did, he said your CO was mad. You could have left him for the Taliban but you weren't leaving anyone, live or dead. You let me and Dylan say a proper goodbye, I'll always be grateful for that.'

'Anyone would have done the same.'

'Smurf had so much respect for you. I think he needed someone to look up to, their father left us when they were only small. And after Geraint spoke so highly of you and after what you did, all he wanted to do was serve under you too. He tried so hard at Catterick, he wanted to make Geraint's death worthwhile I think.'

'He was a good soldier.'

'I knew something bad was going to happen, that's why I sent him my ring'

He remained impassive.

'He was so upset about you too, when you were shot, he waited outside your room day and night until you woke up. He was so happy when you got out of hospital. It was a shame that Molly didn't want to be more than friends but he was still so excited about going to Vegas. The day you woke up after the operation, he told me everything was going to be OK. He was going to do an apprenticeship, Molly was going to be an awesome medic and you would go on another tour.'

'I'm sorry he didn't get to see Vegas.'

It sounded hollow and pathetic.

'Will you serve another tour?'

'I can't. My injuries were too severe and you're right, everything that happened on that last tour, it was my fault. I was the officer and I screwed up. I resigned my commission.'

She looked taken aback.

'I'm sorry to hear that. My boys..., that's not what they would have wanted.'

She took a sip of coffee.

'What will you do now?'

He thought for a moment and slowly looked up at her,

'I have absolutely no idea.'

Drawing in a deep breath of night air as he walked back towards the city centre, the vague dull ache ever present in his leg, he was suddenly confronted by the realisation that the main source of his grief was not the deaths of Smurf and Geraint, but instead stemmed from the loss of Captain James and of a way of life to which he could never return.

Disgusted by his own self pity, he pulled his hat down over his ears.

'You need to sort it out; your world, and everything in it.'

He quickened his pace back towards the station.


	5. Distance

Friday 24th October 2014

Wrapped in his dressing gown, she watched him at work; there had been a storm the night before, leaving branches, leaves and other debris strewn across the garden. She watched as he methodically worked his way around the plot, organising the material into neat piles beside the shed. He never complained about his injuries but she would often catch an intake of breath or hear a slight wince when he thought she was out of earshot. He did not move easily over the grass, his limp evident as he carried an armful of branches back to the appropriate pile. She liked watching him work, to see him engaged in a task and sat unseen on the window seat until he had almost everything in the garden squared away. She had been here for about a week, ever since she had returned from decompression in Cyprus. She loved being here, loved spending almost every waking and sleeping moment by his side but she could not shake the feeling that he was now becoming more distant. Rationally, she knew that everything he said and did meant that he really did love her but at the same time, she was becoming increasingly convinced that he had changed his mind about their relationship. She did not know what would happen after she went back to London that evening and she was trying hard not to think about it. Suddenly he looked skywards, screwing up his face as he sniffed the air. She caught his eye and he smiled up at her, indicating with his fingers that he'd come inside in a few minutes. She smiled back, as the rain started to fall on the stone garden path. Pulling the dressing gown more tightly around herself, she headed downstairs to the kitchen.

The rain was quite heavy by the time he came inside and his hair was wet when he entered the kitchen. She handed him a large mug of steaming coffee.

'You look hot with wet hair.'

He looked pleased and took a sip of his drink, before accepting the piece of cake she held out to him.

'That's very kind of you Dawsey, I aim to please.'

'I should get dressed so we can go out somewhere before I go.'

He looked a little sad at the mention of her departure but did not respond, instead he took a large bite of cake and looked thoughtfully out of the window.

'Have you finished?'

'Well, it's good enough for now, I think there might be another storm imminent so I'll wait out until that passes, anyway, I'll need to find something to do when you go.'

Placing his mug on the worktop, he moved to face her, taking her up in his arms, 'There's no rush to go anywhere just yet, you know.'

She sat in the window of what she had been told was the drawing room and glanced down at him, laying with his head in her lap as he read a thick book. The rain, heavier now, fell loudly against the window and she looked out again at the puddles forming in the street below. She became aware of him watching her, the whites of his eyes standing out against his tanned skin as he looked upwards.

She bent forward and kissed him.

'Charles?'

'Mmmm?'

'What was the thing you read at the church? That old thing by that welsh guy. Smurf said you read it for Geraint too.'

'It's not old, well not that old anyway.'

'I liked it.'

'It's from a radio play called Under Milk Wood by Dylan Thomas. He wrote it in about 1953, just before he died. One of the characters in it recites the poem.'

'Right, so it's a poem inside a play about some welshies?' she sounded sceptical.

'It's good, it's quite funny if it's done well.'

'Well you know I ain't any good at books and that.'

'No Dawsey, you just think you ain't.'

Silently she counted the hours left until she had to leave for the train. She did not want to go, she felt as if by leaving she would break the spell, that everything between them would suddenly be different. He had been quiet all afternoon, studiously reading his book, although she was sure he hadn't actually turned a page for at least an hour. She felt the need to try and lift the oppressive atmosphere.

'This reminds me of leaving the FOB.'

'Mmm?'

'When I was going on R and R. Me and you had just had that thing in the med tent, I didn't have a scooby what it meant but I knew I didn't want to go. I feel the same now.'

'I didn't want you to leave then either,' He paused, 'and I don't want you to leave now, but I know you have to see your family.'

'Really?'

'Really what?'

'Really you don't want me to go?'

He sat up quickly, took her hand in his and looked straight into her eyes.

'What the fuck are you going on about Dawsey?'

'It's just...'

She felt him shake her hand as if to tease the words out of her.

'I thought, well, I thought you was going off me.' She looked down, avoiding his gaze, 'You've just seemed a bit sad lately, I thought it meant you was regretting it.'

She felt his soft touch on her skin as he turned her face towards his. His expression was sombre but his eyes were full of emotion.

'I have never loved anyone the way I love you, Molly Dawes, it's going to take a lot for you to get rid of me!' He looked down, 'I am sorry if I've been distant, I was just trying to protect you.'

'You ain't ever got to hide anything from me.'

She felt helpless as he began to sob, pulling his head towards her chest and cradling him in her arms.

'I don't know what to do Molly. All I have ever known is the army and now it's over. I'm not even sure what the point was. Seeing Candy lose her boys, both of them with so much life in front of them, was it really worth that sacrifice? She should never have had to experience that. It's my fault Smurf died, I should have done more for Geraint too.' He paused, 'I've given my life to the army but I feel there is nothing to show for it, other than hurt and sadness. The only good thing to come out of this situation is you.'

'Don't say that, you know it ain't true. There was nothing anyone could have done for Smurf, you didn't order him into that minefield, or make him lose it on the bridge, I know you did everything you could to fix those situations, it ain't your fault if it didn't go to plan.'

'I was the officer, it all happened on my watch, that means it was my fault, that's just the way things work.'

'Charles, you can't speak like this. You're a brilliant officer, your men respect you so much, everyone I know thinks you're the nuts as a Captain.'

'Was the nuts as a Captain, Molly, 'was' being the operative word.' He stared blankly across the room.

'The question is though Dawes, what the fuck does an injured, washed-up Captain do with himself now?'

She knew there was little point in arguing as he dejectedly sank back into her arms.

The station manager watched a tall man and a young woman walk arm in arm onto the platform. He had seen many goodbyes over the years and could detect a familiar theme as the man placed a protective arm around the woman's shoulders. The tannoy announced the imminent arrival of the London train and as the station manager readied himself, he saw the man pull the woman closer and kiss the top of her head. He wondered what their story was, as the man reached into his inside coat pocket and handed the woman a slim package, before picking up her bags and walking slowly towards the train. Finally the couple kissed, and the woman disappeared out of view, leaving the man motionless and alone on the platform. Suddenly she reappeared, launching herself into the man's arms.

'I'll love you whatever you choose to do, don't ever forget that.'

The station manager smiled as the man kissed the woman, before looking down at his watch, checking how much time remained before the train was scheduled to depart. Rather reluctantly, he began to walk towards the couple.

'Train doors are about to close I'm afraid'.

The man kissed the woman one more time.

'Ditto.'

Satisfied that everything was in order, the station manager blew his whistle and waited for the train to pull away from the platform. Once the noise and hustle had died away, he turned and headed back towards his office. Behind him, the tall man remained on the platform, transfixed by the two red lights as they gradually disappeared from his view.


	6. Coming clean

Saturday 1st November 2014

He emerged from the tube station and stopped abruptly. Pulling out his phone, his thumb hovered over the screen momentarily, before he frowned and stuffed it back into his pocket, struck by the realisation that beyond knowing that her house was close to Upton Park, he had absolutely no idea where she lived. Walking on, he tried to suppress his hurt that she had kept him so separate from her family, from her civvy life, his emotions piqued by the sight of the towering football ground to his left. He paused at the wrought iron gates and took a moment to pay his respects to Smurf, passers by eyeing him with curiosity as he stood motionless on the pavement, his head bowed towards the stand. Returning his hat to his head, he noticed the Green Street Café on the other side of the road, his stomach reminding him that it had been several hours since he had eaten. Readjusting his head wear, he took a last look at the stadium and strode purposely across the street.

The café was empty as he entered, the sound of a radio drifting though the bead curtain from the kitchen. The noticeboard above the counter was covered in a thick layer of newspaper cuttings and flyers for local events, their varying age indicated by a range of yellow hues. At the centre of the board, partially obscured by a large advert for a fireworks display, was a familiar face.

'Hero parades Military Cross as fans honour death of Private.'

Absorbed in the article, he suddenly became aware of a figure on the other side of the counter asking for his order.

'Sorry, I was miles away.'

'She's a 'ero, we're very proud of 'er round 'ere. Anyway, what can I get you darlin'?'

'Egg, bacon, bubble and beans, please.'

'Tea or coffee?'

He thought for a second.

'A tea bag does me Boss.'

'Make it a large mug of tea please.'

'£4.90, please darlin'. Take a seat, ah'll bring it over.'

Draining the mug, he picked it and the clean plate up and walked back to the counter.

'Looks like that didn't touch the sides, love.'

He smiled, 'No, it was just what I needed.'

He turned to leave but hesitated.

'Can I you get you something else?'

'Well... Molly, I mean Private Dawes, I don't suppose you know where she lives?'

The woman eyed him suspiciously,

'She don't want no trouble, that family don't need more journos prying, stirring up muck.'

'I'm not a journalist. I served with Molly... and with the Private who died at the ground.'

The woman's arms were folded across her bust and her eyes remained narrow.

'Prove it.'

He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and opened it, taking out a battered photograph, placing it on the counter in front of her. He pointed to the left of a group of soldiers, lined up in front of an aircraft.

'There's Molly,' he said, before moving his finger to the centre of the image, 'and that's me.' He laughed, 'We weren't on very good terms that day!'

The woman considered the photograph for a few seconds before nodding slowly.

'End of the road, left along the Barking Road, second left, then first right. It's on the first floor, nearest one to you.'

He folded the photograph and returned it to his wallet.

'Thank you.', he pointed to the noticeboard, 'Is the fireworks display any good?'

'Fantastic mate, you should head over if you're sticking around.'

The door had barely closed before the woman picked up the phone.

'Belinda? Becca from the café. Just had a bloke here looking for your Molls, had a photo of them together in the army so I'm pretty sure he's genuine, but just wanted to give you a heads up.', she listened for a moment before continuing, 'Thing is Bel, he definitely ain't no squaddy, he was..., well…, posh.'

She threw the book on the floor in frustration, immediately feeling ashamed as she did so. She reached over and picked up the slim volume, dusting it off and placing it carefully on her bedside table. She had opened the package as soon as she had found her seat on the train, her heart sinking when she saw its contents. She knew how much he liked this play, its significance in their lives, but she was not one for books, let alone ones like this. Determined to prove herself wrong, she had begun to read, but the words seemed to move themselves around and across the page, no matter how hard she concentrated. With a sigh, she picked up her phone and opened Google, scrolling down the results until one in particular caught her eye. She clicked on the link and settled back into her pillows, as the video began.

He had butterflies in his stomach as he looked up at the maisonette, unclear why visiting the woman he loved made him more nervous that four times in theatre. Part of him wanted to run back to the tube but he forced himself to carry on and began to climb the stairs. Reaching the door, he thought he saw the net curtain twitch as he composed himself and rapped loudly.

'Mrs Dawes? I'm Charles, I served with Molly.'

The blond lady nodded.

'Please come in, Molly's upstairs, I'll fetch her for you.'

She waved him into the front room where a man sat watching A Place in the Country.

'Dave, this is Charles, he's a friend of Molly.'

'Nice to meet you Mr Dawes.'

The man looked at him suspiciously and murmured a greeting.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, before, without taking his eyes from the screen, Mr Dawes spoke.

'So you served with Molly did you? I ain't seen you before.'

'No, I was in hospital when parade was held.'

Mr Dawes seemed to consider this for a moment and looked like he was about to speak again when Molly entered, her coat in hand.

'Bo... Charles! What you doing 'ere? Come on, let's go out, leave your bag.'

Before he knew it, he was back on the balcony.

'Dawesy! Anyone would think that you were embarrassed by me!'

She looked at her feet, 'It's not that, it's just that, well, our flat, this place... you live in a mansion.'

'I was a soldier for 10 years, I've lived in all sorts of places, usually not mansions. I love you, I love everything about you, Of course I want to see where you live, to meet your family. Frankly, I couldn't give a monkeys if you lived in a sleeping bag on the moon!'

'I haven't told my family about you either.'

'I'd noticed. You've done your best to keep me separate from your life.'

'Don't be angry, it's not that I don't love you, I just dunno how my parents will react, they thought I was with Smurf I think. We had to be so secretive for so long, I've just got used to lying I suppose...'

'There's no need to lie any more, I've left the army, we're not doing anything wrong. I'm like anyone, I want to be liked my girlfriend's family. And once you've introduced me properly, I'm taking you for something to eat and then we're going to the fireworks.'

She looked up at him nervously, 'OK, let's get it over with.'

She stepped quickly away from the curtain as Molly and Charles moved back towards the door, picking up a magazine and pretending to read it. She looked up as Molly came into the room, only half surprised to see that she was holding Charles' hand.

'Mum, Dad, this is my boyfriend Charles. We met in Afghanistan, he was my Captain. We started seeing each other after we got home and he's left the army now.'

She watched as Charles put his arm around Molly's shoulders, looking down at her lovingly.

'I'm sorry that I didn't tell you before, but things have been complicated, what with Smurf and everything else, but please believe me that we are dead serious about each other.'

Molly looked directly at her, her face pleading for acceptance.

'I love him.'

She got to her feet and rushed to her daughter, throwing her arms around her.

'As you long as you're happy Molls, that's all that matters.'

She turned to Dave, who looked unimpressed.

'What does someone like you want with my girl, eh? She's an 'ero and that but she ain't like you.'

She looked anxiously at Charles, who was still holding Molly close to him.

'Mr Dawes, it doesn't matter to me where Molly comes from or where she went to school or how she talks, she's a beautiful, fantastic person, full of humanity, she's endlessly selfless and incredibly hard working. As far as I am concerned there is nothing not to love.'

She turned back to her husband, willing him to accept Charles.

'Well, you seem genuine enough, but if you hurt her, I swear I will break your leg.'

'Understood, Mr Dawes.'

She smiled, pleased to see her daughter so obviously happy.

Several hours later, she watched from a few metres away as they stood in front of the bonfire. Charles behind Molly with his arms around her waist, occasionally kissing the top of her head. They were engrossed by each other, deep in conversation and laughing frequently. Molly was visibly beaming.

'Here, look at that Dave.'

He grunted.

'Here, mum, you agree with me, don't you. However they met, whether he's posh or not, those two adore each other.'

'Well, he's very charming, not bad looking neither. If I were 20 years younger... I used to think you only found a good un once, but I fink she's managed it twice. Good luck to 'em I say.'

She saw Dave look across to the laughing couple.

'He bought me a pint and pizza earlier, if he continues like that, he'll be awright. He's still sleeping on the couch tonight though.'

She looked up and smiled, as the fireworks began to shoot into the dark night sky.

As the displayed continued, Charles looked down at Molly.

'That wasn't so bad was it?'

'No, even my Dad's warmed to you, whatever he might say.'

He rested his chin on her head, trying to keep her warm with his own body heat.

'Molly?'

'Mmmm.'

'I think I've worked out what I am going to do next.'


	7. New Horizons

**Thank you for all the kind comments thus far, it's given me a lot of confidence to do more writing. This is the penultimate chapter and I'm afraid my friend and I make a cameo appearance!**

She thought he looked like a kid in a sweet shop, purposefully moving up and down, inspecting items on the shelves and rapidly filling the blue plastic basket he was carrying. She found a seat and yawned, longing for another cup of tea. Suddenly he appeared in front of her.

'Boots, Dawes.'

'Boots, Boss?'

'We need to get you some,' he pointed at her flimsy trainers, 'you can't go up hills in those.'

Reluctantly she let him guide her to the back of the shop where an assistant was already waiting with a selection of boots that Charles had obviously vetted.

'Anyone would think you was once in the army...'

She didn't think she had ever found buying shoes so exhausting; standing on ramps, putting on socks, changing insoles and answering a volley of questions from the assistant and from Charles.

'Excellent.' he beamed, taking the chosen boots from the assistant. 'Next.'

Now she really did want a cuppa. 'More?'

'Try this on,' he almost ordered, helping her into a blue waterproof. He nodded with approval.

'HAAW MUCH? I ain't paying 400 quid on an anorak!'

'Worth every penny Dawsey, last you a lifetime if you look after it.'

'Would need to be four lifetimes for that price.'

She turned away towards the trousers.

The launch chugged its way towards the middle of the lake. Pulling her buff over her chin and her hat down over her ears, she tried to take it all in.

'You'd never fink that this was England.'

'It's one of the finest English landscapes there is! Poems have been written about this place.'

'You and your poems, Boss...'

He shook his head in faux exasperation and looked back down the valley towards the rugged hills, dappled by sunshine, as the cloud began to lift from the summits.

'I'm starving, seems an age since I had them coco pops.'

'About two hours, yes. There's food in your bag.'

She sat down on the wooden bench and opened the lid of the new blue rucksack.

'What the fuck is this?!

'It's yours.'

'You can't go around buying me 400 quid jackets, you must have spent the best part of a grand in that shop, mostly on me! I know I'm not the same as you, but I ain't no charity neither.'

She spun round on the varnished seat, resting her forearms on the gunwale. Biting her lip in a futile bid to suppress her emotions, she stared out over the grey water. She felt a hand on her back and the warmth of his body, as he slid next to her.

'Molly, this has nothing to do with rich and poor. I want to spoil my woman... Shit, that sounded a bit misogynistic.'

'I might have been insulted if knew what it meant.'

'It makes me happy to spend my money on you, that's all. The coat's practical and it really suited you, so I bought it. Because I wanted to, nothing more, nothing less.'

Still looking over the water she leant backwards onto his chest, silently letting him intertwine his fingers with hers. The boat passed under a little white cottage on the hillside.

'Didn't you say you were hungry?'

The 'put, put, put, put, put' of the launch faded away and the last few leaves on the trees rustled as a gust of wind blew in from the lake.

"A breeze from the creased water  
>sighs the streets close under Milk waking Wood"<p>

He immediately looked at her.

'You read it then? Thought you didn't do 'books an' that'.'

She remained silent, and as he watched, she seemed to drink in the surroundings and every single thing she could see.

'We better get going, it'll be dark at 4.'

The cloud had completely lifted and the hill was bathed by the cool autumnal sun as they reached the rounded summit. She looked south along the ridge and towards the higher, rockier mountains beyond. The valley to the left appeared almost like a caricature, such was the arrangement of the hillsides, trees and rocks, all illuminated by the pale light.

'This really is beautiful. I don't think I've ever been somewhere so nice. Look, there's that little cottage we saw from the boat. Its got a satellite dish, must have Sky TV. No Topshop round the corner though... How far we going?'

'You see where those people are down there?'

'Yeah.'

'We'll take that path. There's a café, actually two, so we can get a coffee and then decide the best way back. Maybe on the bus, I'll see how my leg feels. Hungry?'

They sat on the edge of the small summit plateau and looked out over the lake towards Keswick and Skiddaw beyond. Delving into his rucksack, he produced a carrier bag and placed it between them.

'Here, these are all my favourite things, how did you know what I eat?'

'I didn't, your nan gave me a coolbox just as we were leaving, she was very insistent that she wanted it back though...'

'Wants you back more like, I think my nan's got the hots for you!'

'Your nan's got good taste.'

'Shut up Hop-along.'

'Cockwomble.'

'Posh twat.'

'Cockney wanker...'

She pulled out her phone.

'We should get a photo now we're legit an' that.'

'Probably break the lens with you in it.'

'Just stand up and smile, you dick.'

She pressed the button.

'Hashtag summit selfie.'

'Look! You're sticking your tongue out! Do another one.'

'Yes Boss.'

'Excuse me,' said a young lady dressed in a dark blue waterproof and a black hat, 'would you like me to take one for you?'

Molly smiled and handed her the phone, placing her arm around Charles' waist. The woman's friend wandered over clutching some biscuits.

'OK, smile!... Best take another one, to be sure... Smile.'

The woman handed Molly her phone, as her friend held out the packet.

'Please have some, else we'll just eat them all.'

'Thanks,' Charles responded, taking the small stack of biscuits the woman eased from the top of the packet.

Seated once again, he couldn't help but laugh as the voices of the two friends died away.

'Aww, they were so cute! Why can't we meet nice men like that?'

'Personally, I don't think they exist. Have you just had another biscuit? You greedy pig!'

Suddenly serious, he stared straight ahead, 'I went to see her you know.' He felt Molly's eyes on him but did not move.

'Who?'

'Candy. I went to Laugharne and then I went to Newport. I paid my respects to Geraint, then Smurf and then I told Candy that it was all my fault. Geraint and Smurf I mean. She's devastated. I don't know what else I expected though really. At first she just started screaming. I don't blame her. I felt so small, such a failure. But then she calmed down and we talked. She seemed upset that I was leaving the army, told me that Geraint and Smurf wouldn't have wanted that.'

'They wouldn't, you know how highly Smurf thought of you.'

'Not at the end. Said I had hit him with the shit end of the stick when it came to you.'

'You don't spend days waiting outside the hospital room of someone you hate.'

'And then I realised that I no longer knew who I was, that all this blame and self-loathing were about Captain James and what Captain James does when he loses the vocation that defines everything about him. I felt really shit when I worked out I was grieving for my past, when those poor sods were actually dead. But being with you helped, it gave me a reason to look forward. I'm proud to see you achieve, knowing you want me by your side. Which I think you do.'

He heard the rustle of plastic as she moved the bag from between them, followed by the noise of her her bum shuffling across the rock. He felt her grasp his upper arm as she rested her head against his shoulder.

'I'm here, ain't I?'

'I have a confession though.'

'What?' his worry was audible.

'Nothing serious! It's just that I didn't actually read Under Milk Wood. I tried, I really did, but I really am shit at books an' that.'

'Then how can you quote it?'

'Watched it on iPlayer. Bunch of Taffs did a version cos Dylan Thomas died 50 years ago. Had that bloke my nan threw her pants at in it.'

'Tom Jones?'

'Yeah, that's the fella. Good job I'd spent so much time hanging out with Smurf to be honest, else I wouldn't have had a fuckin' scoob what they was saying. One of them looked a bit like him actually. Made me a bit sad, but it made me remember the good times too. Anyway, it was really good, made me laugh, we should watch it later on the laptop, if you haven't seen it.'

'The kinship is just as undeniable as the difference.'

'You can shove your Wittgenstein up your arse, you pretentious twat!'

He roared with laughter and pulled her towards him. In this place that he loved, with the woman he loved, he felt more content than he had in many months.

He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a piece of glossy paper, torn from a magazine. He passed it to her.

'You remember I said a desk job wasn't really my bag? Well I saw this the other day. Not for right now, it's going to take a lot of work to get my leg 100%, but I know a load of ex-army guys up here who can help with fitness and training and I should be good to go in a year or so. I'll need to move up here and then I'd be away a bit, so I suppose I'm asking if that would be OK with you?'

He watched as Molly studied the advert, scrutinising her face in an attempt to interpret her thoughts.

Finally she spoke, 'It's perfect.'


	8. Life goes on

"**So this is the end, yeah?". **

**Thank you to everyone who has read this story and for all the kind comments. This is just a short chapter but I hope I have managed to end things satisfactorily. It's back to powerpoint for me now!**

* * *

><p>'Come on guys! Let's get this kit squared away ASAP. Helo down in 15 and we WILL be on it. I am NOT missing that plane!'<p>

The people around him began to scurry across the barren ground, stacking boxes and bags in neat piles.

'Kit over there, Bruce. Perishables there, Katy. No, not the gas, that needs to go down there so the crew can inspect it before transportation... Good work guys.'

The helicopter climbed slowly into the sky, its belly laden with both people and supplies, the rhythmic beat of the blades almost deafening. He watched as base camp disappeared below him, the waving Sherpas now indistinct dots within a vast landscape. He breathed in the thin, pure Himalayan air, suddenly rendered awestruck by the dawn sunlight caressing the snow-capped massif. Looking at the faces of those around him, he quietly allowed himself a smile. It was a job well done.

'What's next for you, James?'

'Home. Then I'll see what comes up, I suppose. Not really one for plans! You?'

The man opposite him brushed something from his face, 'I don't know. This...,' he swept his hand across the mountain tops, 'it's given me the confidence that I can still achieve. If I can climb the 10th highest mountain in the world with only 3 limbs...'

'Well, if you'd told me 6 years ago, when I was lying in that hospital bed, that I'd summit Everest twice, put up a new route on K2 and climb in Antarctica, I'd have laughed... and it's been such an honour to commemorate the British Army's ascent by leading you guys on Annapurna.' He looked again at the mountain, 'You can do anything if you want it enough.'

Wearily, she stared at her reflection in the window, as the bus wound its way down the dark and twisty road.

'How long you back for?'

'A while I hope, a few weeks off, then I've just been attached to Catterick, so might be able to commute. West Africa was a bit harrowing, think I need a break.'

'Reckon you've earned it Molls. Anyway we like it when you're home, puts a bit of life back into the place!'

She laughed, remembering how she had once managed to involve the entire local pub in a drinking game. She was still not sure if the landlady had forgiven her for the vomit ridden aftermath.

The bus slowed to a halt and the driver got up to help her with her kit.

'Don't get this service in East Ham!'

'Good job this isn't East Ham then. Will I put you down for the Carlisle run on Wednesday? Be coming past about 8.30.'

'Yeah, go on George, 'bout time I had my Topshop fix!'

A bright moon glistened on the inky black water as she looked across the lake. Even at night this place was beautiful, her fatigue and worry melting away as she counted the stars. She shivered and brought back to reality, gathered up her numerous bags. She turned to face the little white cottage and crossed the road.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she wrestled her way through the door and dropped her kit with a crash. Cursing as she searched between layers of hanging coats, she jumped as the hall light came on, apparently of its own accord. A tall, athletic, tanned figure, his almond eyes shining under wild, wavy brown hair, leaned casually on the kitchen door frame, his left hand resting on the second switch.

'Fukin' hell! You trying to give me a Julius, you dick?! You're meant to be in Nepal until next week!'

'Well hello to you too,' he responded with a smile.

She cocked her head to one side and looked him up and down, 'You don't half look sexy when you've been up a mountain.'

He laughed, 'You don't look half bad yourself.'

Turning towards the kitchen, he called to her over his shoulder, 'Cup of tea, Sergeant James?'


End file.
